


Your Shelter

by FairyTrashMother



Series: Bad Blood [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gift Giving, Jewish Witchers, M/M, background geralt - Freeform, background vesemir/guxart, backround eskel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29992044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyTrashMother/pseuds/FairyTrashMother
Summary: Lambert hates the cold, but Aiden seems to hate it more. Lambert has a perfect gift idea.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: Bad Blood [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205477
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	Your Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> I turned a small breakdown over a craft project into uhhhhhh, the boys having a small breakdown over craft projects
> 
> Also you can read this alone, but its much better if you read Part 1

Some things were so true that everyone knew them. The sun rose in the East, birds flew, fish swam, water was wet, and Lambert fucking hated the cold. It hurt. It crept into his bones and no matter how much he ate, no matter how good his kit was, no matter how many blankets he piled on himself, he couldn’t shake it. He’d had time to acclimate, he’d had the mutagens to toughen him up, and it all made no difference. The cold hurt, and he fucking hated it.

The other wolves had more or less given up on teasing him about it, in part because they realized he was genuinely miserable, and in part because when Geralt had come back fresh from his first foray out on the path and quipped “You’re less a Witcher and more a kvetcher. A Kvitcher!”, he’d gotten a fist in the gut for it and it had taken Eskel and Gweld to pry the two of them apart.

But that had been  _ before _ . 

Now it was late autumn. The leaves were changing and the apples had all been picked and many of them baked and eaten with honey at the new year. Pumpkins and gourds had come and gone. Now was the time of roasted chestnuts and bonfires, the weather when you needed a sweater more often than not, but your breath didn’t frost on the air yet. It was nippy, but tolerable for Lambert.

Not so for Aiden. If Lambert hated the cold, then Aiden had discovered some new, secret emotion beyond hate. Maybe it was a special Cat emotion. 

Aiden had taken to crawling into Lambert’s bed when the wind moaned between the towers of the Keep and thunder shook the window panes. The first night he’d been half asleep and mumbled something about a leaky roof in his wagon and just tucked himself around Lambert and passed out again. Lambert hadn’t been sure what to do, but he decided to worry about it later. In the morning Aiden had yawned right in his face, looked around confused and then shrugged it off and badgered him out of bed for morning stretches. And then it kept happening and the sky didn’t fall or anything and it wasn’t weird between them, so he kept not worrying about it. 

Now, though, it was different. Aiden was refusing to sleep in his own bed, and Lambert was fairly certain that if he marked the feet of his bed with chalk he’d find that it was slowly being dragged closer to the fireplace. Which, he realized, was a pretty brilliant idea and he should have thought of it ages ago, but still. If Aiden was struggling now, proper winter would be hell for him. 

It made sense, when Lambert thought about it. He’d learned that the Caravan traveled south for the winter, and that most of the Cats got their mutagens from Cats that lived in warm places. Aiden’s source came from Zerakania, for goodness sake. At least Lambert had the benefit of some good Wolf blood to keep him warm. 

But this was a plight he understood too well, so Lambert took desperate measures. 

He’d gone back after his initial panicked tidy when Aiden moved in and done a proper organizational sort. Or, at least he’d managed to find storage enough for all of his nonsense to keep Aiden from tripping over anything gross or dangerous. Part of that had been finding space for his increasingly large pile of beaver pelts. 

Lambert had been planning the most glorious winter coat to end all winter coats for ages. Sure the Keep had no shortage of good sheepskin coats, but little was warmer than a good beaver pelt. He’d thought ahead when he realized he needed storage and built a cedar chest for the pelts, and later, for the coat. It was meant to be a stunning thing, with hand carved antler buttons, a rich wool lining, and a deep hood. Less a coat and more a mobile fortress against winter’s hateful touch. He’d had the pattern all mapped out in one of his notebooks, and he’d been working for more than a year to get all his supplies together. 

And he was going to have to re-draw his design and make the damn thing for Aiden. Sure he  _ could _ make it for himself and let Aiden make do with a wool coat. But also Lambert wasn’t a cunt. And maybe,  _ maybe _ if he was careful he could still make himself a hat and some gloves from the leftovers and start again next year. Let Aiden be his test subject with the prototype. 

So, one afternoon, when Aiden was busy swearing over his knitting, swaddled in blankets, Lambert stole his shirt and took his measurements.

Ultimately, the numbers worked out fine. The coat could be re-designed and still work. Aiden probably was more or less done growing, Lambert figured, so he wouldn’t need too much more wiggle room, just a few inches here and there. He’d started filling out nicely now that he was eating regularly, even if he still had a finicky stomach, but he seemed to be one of those people who was just naturally skinny. He was also  _ long _ , and so while Lambert could save a few inches in the shoulders, he needed to add them to the hem and sleeves to make them long enough. 

He glanced at Aiden, who seemed to have found his rhythm. He looked peaceful, now that he wasn’t struggling and swearing between strange chittering noises every few stitches. His light green eyes were laser focused on his work, and his long fingers flicked quickly in a way that was both familiar and alien. Apparently the Cats taught a different  _ style _ of knitting, which wasn’t a thing Lambert had been aware even existed. The Wolf way felt clunkier than Aiden’s which somehow looked graceful. Or course, everything looked graceful when Aiden did it, and it was hard for anything to look bad when those hands-

With a small shake of his head, Lambert focused himself back on his own work. Yeah, he was gunna sew that Cat the best fucking coat anyone had ever seen.

* * *

The coat was a fucking disaster. His seams were atrocious, he’d managed to step on one of his antler buttons, forcing him to pivot at the last minute and add a woven toggle to the top to keep the hood closed around the neck --  _ a fucking toggle _ \-- and the stunning red he’d dyed the wool had faded to a  _ pink _ . It was still vibrant, sure, but it was a vibrant  _ pink _ . It was hideous. Lambert was deeply, ashamedly grateful that Aiden seemed to be almost done with his sweater. There had been a lot of wearing and snarling, and one deeply disturbing moment when he’d walked in on Aiden kneeling on the floor, half his work unraveled and tears streaming down his face, but it seemed his sweater was almost done. 

Secretly Lambert thought it looked a little small and bunchy, but sweaters always looked strange before you washed them, and he couldn’t find it in him to doubt Aiden’s skills. So Aiden could wear his warm wool sweater under his stock wool coat, and Lambert would wear his godsawful testament to his hubris and shame, and maybe pick the seams apart in spring and try again. At the very least, even if it was ugly, it  _ would _ be warm. 

* * *

Except.  _ Except _ , Aiden fucking loved it. He kept touching it, running his hands across the pelts and flexing his fingers in them. His stupid, pretty eyes got all big and he’s get lost in them for a moment and Lambert would have to swat his hands away so he didn’t grab a handful of straight pin by accident. And like an idiot, when Lambert had been attaching the hood he’d asked Aiden to put the coat on ( _ hey dummy, come be my dummy _ ) and Aiden had almost refused to take it off. 

So here Lambert was, staring balefully at the wretched coat that lay on his bed. It was mocking him. He hated this coat. He heard a scuff of boot on stone a moment before Aiden hooked his chin over Lambert’s shoulder, dropping all his weight against Lambert, who was already braced for this and barely swayed. 

“It looks good, Lamb.”

“It looks fucking shit, this is  _ not _ what I planned.” 

“It looks good. A little big, but that just gives you room for sweaters, and you can tuck your hands in the long sleeves.”

“No, it's sized properly. I was  _ trying _ to make it for you, so it's sized to your ridiculous stork arms. But it’s a shit gift. I can do better, fuck. I  _ will _ do better for next year.”

Aiden turned his face into Lambert’s cheek. “For me? You made this for  _ me? _ ”

Lambert’s heart did something complicated that he didn’t want to think too much about with Aiden’s face next to his face. “Well yeah. If you’re cold now, winter’s gunna be miserable. It gets ass-eatingly cold up here.”

Aiden’s hands came to rest lightly on Lambert’s hips. “Pretty sure it's ‘ass-bitingly’”.

“Nah, ass-eatingly. It’ll eat your ass straight off. That’s what happened to Vesemir, Guxart stole the covers once and the cold ate his ass clear off.”

Aiden huffed and mashed his nose into Lambert’s cheek. “I knitted you a sweater. It's lumpy, but uh. Well. It's for you.”

Lambert’s heart swooped. “Well fuck off and bring me my sweater then.” He felt Aiden smile against his jaw and his heart kept fluttering and something tugged in his gut, but then Aiden was pulling away and moving to get something out of the chest they’d pilfered for him nearly half a year ago now. 

He came back and looked almost uncertain. “Look ok, don’t laugh, just. I thought. It might be fun for you, and if you absolutely hate it I can frog the whole thing and make you socks  _ so _ fast-”

“First, fuck off that’s mine, you’re not making it into anything. Second, you can do what with a frog?”

Aiden looked sheepish but his eyes glittered with what Lambert was a dangerous light.“Cuz you rip it, rip it”.

“No. Ok no, fuck off, give me my sweater and go sleep in the stables, you’re banished for that.  _ Banished _ .” He made grabby hands, and Aiden handed it over. “No idea  _ why _ I like you when you commit acts of violence against my person like this-”

Lambert unfolded the sweater and held it spread out so he could see the design. 

It was a wolf’s head, picked out in neat cables, framed with more twisting plaits, with soft, moss stitch between, and intricate braids twisting up the sleeves. “Fuck, Aiden, this is gorgous.” Lambert dropped it to the bed and immediately began wrestling his shirt off. “I’m putting on a clean shirt for this and then I’m  _ never taking this off _ , are you kidding me?”

Aiden glowed and wiggled a bit in a way that Lambert had learned meant that he was too full of happiness and wasn’t sure where to put it. “So do I get my coat then?”

“Yeah, I mean I can do better, next year, I can see what I did wrong and I can make you a better one, but-” His head popped out the top of the sweater to see Aiden already wrapped in the coat. His pupils were massive, like Lambert had never seen, and he was rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “Well. At least it's comfortable.”

Aiden swayed a little, looking almost drunk. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead what came out was- a  _ purr _ . He almost didn’t seem to notice, he just smiled broadly and swayed forward to tuck his head into Lambert’s shoulder again. His hands settled on Lambert’s back and he squeezed, first one hand, then the other, over and over again. “Melitele’s sweet cunt. You’re an actual pussy cat.”

“Suck my dick, no I’m not.” Somehow he managed to say it ( _ slur it _ ) without stopping his purr. 

“Nah, definitely an apex predator. Big fierce Witcher. Definitely not a big kitty.” Lambert settled his hands on Aiden’t back, making it a strange, swaying hug. 

“You’re an asshole, but I’m never taking this off. This is my home now. I live here.”

“Yeah”, Lambert sighed, closing his eyes. “Yeah, you do.”

So no, maybe not his best work ever, but certainly one of his top five best ideas.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know: I'm Jewish, and I headcanon all of the Witchers as Jewish. I have like, an essay full of textual reasons for thinking this, but also, I'm vibing. 
> 
> For those that don't know, "kvetch" means "complain" in Yiddish. Geralt isn't actually trying to be mean, he really did think it was a funny joke. Lambert just hates the cold and also puns activate his fight or flight instincts.
> 
> Also, frogging is an actual term, I use it often, and I LIVE for the moments when people ask "what does that mean?" and I get to drop that bombshell on them.


End file.
